-Break-

18th of February 1943

ICW FORCES LIBERATE ROMANIA, RUSSIA ATTACKS GRINDELWALD HELD BELARUS

By: Hubert Higgins

Earlier last morning, concerted efforts of the remaining Russian Forces have penetrated deep into Belorussian territory, clashing against dark forces under the command by the ruthless Vinda Rosier.

This has come as a great surprise to many experts as most believed the Russians to have been a spent force but it seems that the Russians still are attempting to have a major influence in the war still to fight.

News has filtered through that the ICW…

20th of February 1943

SWITZERLAND LIBERATED! KNIGHTS OF MIMPOST TAKE LEAD AS ATTICUS SAYRE TAKES COMMAND OF ALLIED FORCES AFTER DARING TAKEDOWN OF GENELUM!

By: Jules Jebbins

Earlier this month, a fraction Knights of Mimpost under the command of Lord Sayre conducted a daring mission to take Genelum Castle, a stronghold of Dark Lord Grindelwald that he used to house hundreds of hostages and as a fortress from where to launch devastating attacks as far as the Balkans.

The ICW and the rest of the Knights of Mimpost worked together take down other places of interest in Switzerland before combining with Lord Sayre and his Knights at Genelum.

The success of taking Genelum Castle was unprecedented (rumours persist that Lord Sayre took down the wards himself) and it wasn't long before the ICW convened and assigned the allied forces in Switzerland to fall under Lord Sayre's command.

This…

21st of February 1943

XAVIER CHARLESTON CLASHED WITH GRINDELWALD IN BELGIUM IN A DEVASTATING DISPLAY OF MAGIC!

By: Jules Jebson

In the fourth year of the start of Dark Lord Grindelwald's war against the Magical World, the fighting in Belgium has seen some of the most ferocious fighting in this war yet.

Xavier Charleston's entry in this was unexpected but highly celebrated as the venerated Headmaster of Ilvermony was one of the few men earmarked capable of defeating the Dark Lord.

In the past few days, it seems such faith was well deserved as Grindelwald unexpectedly showed up during a siege against a base in Northern Belgium.

Eye accounts state that Charleston more than held his own against Grindelwald and claims of 'never before seen display of magic' was made by several high profile individuals…

[Memories of the fight between Grindelwald and Charleston]

26th of February 1943

ICW BATTLES IN HUNGARY, EXPERTS SAY HUNGARIAN LIBERATION A MATTER OF TIME!

By: Marcus Soltiss

As war is fought with gruesome brutality in the Western Front, the ICW has been quietly sweeping across the Eastern Front.

With Vinda Rosier rumoured to have left to go West, it has opened an opportunity…

-Break-

3rd of March 1943

Selo Pri Bledu, Slovenia

He stood impassive, on his lonesome, his arms folded as he watched with a frown at the edges of the field, looking down at the scenes as the battle raged at the banks of the Sava Bohinjka River, a place in Slovenia that had limestone river bank cliffs, forests with rolling hills and mountains covered with trees on the precipice of turning rich green as Spring nears.

The region here has had a long history of magical settlement and was famous for the large range of magical plants that dominated the plant life in the forests for large stretches of the surrounding lands.

It was shame, then, that large stretches of the forest were burning, that the landscape was being torn asunder by the battle that stretched across both banks of the river.

The magical village here was used a waypoint by the Balkan supporters of Grindelwald to filter in more and more fighters for Grindelwald's cause and to was a major potion ingredient exporter to Grindelwald.

The Balkan regions tended to be at constant war, over one thing or another and it was one of the main reason's his mother's family had left the region to avoid further bloodshed. Those who supported Grindelwald did not support him completely for his ideology…no, it was simpler than that.

Unending blood feuds between different clans were settled by envoys of Grindelwald, perhaps even himself and so fealty had been sworn to him. Swathes of families were slaughtered or indentured to the ones who'd sold themselves to Grindelwald and it was enough to earn their – seemingly – eternal loyalty.

Plus a dozen or so million of galleons of course.

Wars were won and lost through gold and resources and Grindelwald had accrued much of both throughout his decades long campaign of assassination, usurpation and donations.

The conviction of men tended to wane and fade away when their pockets no longer were heavy with gold.

Ripples of explosions rang and his eyes spied at the sight before him.

He resisted the urge to come barrelling down from where he stood, the sounds of hundreds of men facing against one another dominated the air, calling to him as if it were a siren call, beckoning him forth to rip through the ranks of the enemies, to sate his wand with a steady stream of blood and gore. But it was not time…not yet.

He watched as the thick crowd of enemies and ally alike made for a claustrophobic battle, scores of men died and fell as they were cut down, died choking on their blood or torn apart from this or that spell. He watched as the river itself was used as a weapon as the water was transfigured, boiled and burnt away.

Spell fire was traded as if it were free commodity, dark curses, killing curses, transfiguration, conjuration, all kinds of magic was on display.

It was a bloody brawl, one where noble heritage mattered not, where a pureblood would sneer at a muggleborn and call mudblood in their face, here they fought side by side against an enemy that sought to coat themselves in their blood, blood that was red all the same, pure or not.

This was their fourth battle, their third battle in less than two weeks. His men had grown leaps and bounds as they waded from one battle to another, the instincts growing ever sharper, the belief in themselves and the cause growing ever more, especially amongst those who had suffered for years or months at Genelum.

Once he had been assigned the ICW forces in Switzerland – something that took him by genuine surprise – he'd been tasked to clear the path for the Eastern ICW forces so that they'd have an easier path into Austria once they'd set the stage for the administrational wing of the ICW to come in to fix the many destroyed national Ministries.

He'd very nearly rejected the assignment.

He breathed in deeply and let the control of his magic slip and opened his eyes. Once more the currents of magic were like thick wisps of smoke of ever differing colours, no longer the faint outlines that almost seemed to be beyond his perception, instead, they were almost physical streams of rivers, of magic. His growth was continuing at a rapid pace, each battle growing his deepening connection with his family's ability.

His eyes snapped towards the main regions where the battle was being fought, each man and woman lit up like radiant stars, some dimmer than others and others brighter than most.

The air choked, overflowed with the magic of hundreds of mages battling with all they had.

The hairs on his body stood at rapt attention, in anticipation, as his eyes gleamed in impatient excitement, magic humming in a blood song within his veins, as though the ancient echoes of ancestors passed urged him forth, to join the fray with eager savagery.

His eyes bored down at the battlefield, his eyes hungry, magic swelling within him as he unfurled his arms and his wand slipped into his left hand.

'Not yet…'

He was their hammer, their breaker. They'd learnt after the first few battles since Genelum that they'd run, hide and hit from the shadows and from their blind spots as they swept through Grindelwald controlled territory, when they'd see him, scattering like cockroaches, an unintended consequence of his recent actions.

He had always fought restrained, with deadly efficiency but nothing like he did these days, his power having unleashed from the chains he'd put himself in, his reticence having been dismissed. He'd always been careful to meter his strength, to ensure that he continued to be underestimated and to limit the depths of his power his enemies could glean from him.

Ever since…that call, he realised that this route was no longer available and it had been naïve for him to think so. It had been difficult for him to come to terms with his own blindness, someone who, for all his talents, talents that he cultivated, for all of the gifts and foreknowledge that life had given him to live a second life with the world at his feet, was still capable of missing the obvious, to miss that he no longer was on the peripheral vision of the powerful and influential.

He was a threat to Grindelwald, and likely others will consider him one too in time if they did not already, and to conceal his strength was only to invite more attempts to kill him, control him, to cow him and his family, something he would never abide by.

That these enemies of his, hidden and unhidden would strike at his soft underbelly if they could not strike at him directly. He had thought himself clever, that his most cherished and vulnerable people were safe from Grindelwald's grasp but they'd never be safe, not until Grindelwald was dead, not after the way he's disrupted Grindelwald's plans.

They would not be safe until he made it safe.

He was harshly reminded, the kind of world he was in, the kind of man he'd need to be, one with many faces for the world.

For someone who studied history, for someone who understood power and where it resided and what forms that it came in, for him to forget this was unforgivable. He'd been lost to his idealism, of showing that he was a leader worth following without being a tyrant, so much so that he'd forgotten the first rule of any would be ruler, of any would be king

"It is better to be feared than to be loved, if one cannot be both"

A king, a ruler, a leader without power, both imagined and true, could never only be a beacon, he had to be a star, one that could be nurturing, allow life to flourish, and one that could destroy, ending them with impetuous ease if it becomes necessary.

If love was the nurturing warmth the sun exuded, fear was the burning touch of the sun.

He'd shown that he had been powerful, more so to his allies when he'd taken down Genelum, but he had resisted to take the plunge to show the true extent of his strength, his ruthlessness, his power to his enemies and the willingness to use it, wary of the reactions it would gain.

He had forgotten the path he was on now, the path to power, the path of his grand dreams of creating a magical civilisation that would reach its potential without fear of muggles or the possibility of self destruction because of their irrationality and ignorance, would always spawn enemies for him to deal with, challenges to meet and that power…that power was never something static, it was always evolving, changing, shifting.

He had forgotten that power was never idle, that it could be fleeting and for him to ever stand a chance to truly achieve his goals, he would have to himself be above them all, beyond reproach, to show that he was untouchable and by proxy those he protected.

And that…

That would come from being shown what it means to stand against him, the impossibility they face.

As he once told Emily, this fear had to be of you acting against them in retribution, to show them that to act against you means that they court death or defeat.

And so…

He once more affirmed himself on his path towards greatness, one that would show the long trails of faint bloody steps he'd leave in his wake, a reminder that he'd step through the pools of your blood should you choose to stand in his way.

He'd rampaged through the enemy ranks, dealing death and destruction on a scale that most of them had not witnessed from a single man, with a savage brutality that even his own allies had been shocked by, inducing fear on the few he had allowed to escape to infect the ranks of the other enemy forces.

Fear…

Fear was not truly his goal, it would never be his goal for it was as stable as a house made of cards…no…

It would merely be something he would have ingrained in their minds, just as fire was ingrained in the minds of animals of the danger it posed.

Fear was a delicate balance that had to be tended to like a garden, plucking and caressing it with care and diligence lest that fear turn against you and he ensured that as many of his men survived as possible, beyond the duty he felt to them, showing his tender touch to them, the intent of his message clear to all.

Follow me and you will find no greater champion.

Stand against me…

And the weeds…

His lips thinned, a twitch of the brow showed his annoyance.

They were plucked and some were allowed to be sent scurrying away and it seemed like it worked a little too well for he obtained a reputation, one that he desired, but also one that worked against their…his desire to blitzkrieg through the territory of Grindelwald supporters and eventually turn towards Belgium.

Frustratingly, the hit and run tactics were too successful in delaying them...

His hand clenched a little tighter on his wand, the noise of the battle fading into the background.

Belgium.

The place where he wanted to be, the place where Grindelwald was, the place where the war would end should he manage to kill him, the place where he would finally begin his and Emily's ascendancy and the ascendancy of the magical beings of this world.

But…

His visions made clear that going Belgium now would not be a good idea, most of the feelings he'd gotten from them made it clear that the men under him would suffer greatly, that he'd suffer, greatly, that he should stay on his current path.

He'd scorned his dreams, the recurring visions that kept on telling him no until he had given in, trusting the paradoxical rational dreams over his desire to rip out the heart of Grindelwald. A cynical part of his mind wondered if that was Grindelwald's intent with how he terrorised his sister, to send him into a rage and to make mistakes that would cost him his life…the lives of those who fought under him.

He breathed in a deep, shuddering breath as he remembered the rage he felt at what Grindelwald told his sister…threatened his sister.

Magic began to crackle around him, swerving around him in a turbulent storm, rising and rising.

He took a step, almost seeming to fall as he leaned forwards, his eyes fixed on the battle, time slowing to a deathly crawl.

The magic humming in his veins, the arcane energy that swirled around pulsed slower and slower as he regulated his breathing to as slow as he could make it.

He took another step, the earth pulsed as he brought down his foot with a multi coloured faint glow, growing away from him like ripples in a disturbed pond.

There.

The signal, a faint Sphinx smoke symbol in the air, finally came, his eyes flashed with undisguised excitement, banishing the deep thoughts that occupied his mind as the thrill of battle filled him.

They'd worked up a scheme to appear as if they were the Eastern ICW forces with the force under his command seemingly making their way towards the Slovenian capital, all to ensure they could destroy most of them in one fell swoop lest they scatter into the wind and delay them even further.

The enemies that were on the periphery would be eliminated first before he'd circle inward.

He breathed in deeply, once more immersing himself to the full extent of his family's ability, his ability.

Magic began to ooze into his body, invigorating, rippling through him at the same time,

He's long since passed those childish days, the days of when he'd combined banishing and levitation charms to move at fast speeds, showing off in front of his cousins, Sara and Odette, during those carefree years of his youth.

It was no longer needed, the crude nature of the method. He had something more…magic that with a thought and imagination did as he willed.

A tinge of pain crossed his face as he remembered how he'd first gotten to that stage, the day his father had died and when he'd gotten to understand more of the power that lied in him.

He bent his knees, the arcane storm that surrounded him spiralling around him as he channelled more and more magic through his body, magic rolled off of him almost as if it were water falling from great heights between the crevices of mountain cliffs.

His eyes shone a final time, the faint swirls of white mixed with radiant purples and greens that gave his face an inhuman sheen.

BOOOOOOOOOOOM!

A shockwave ripped through the earth, the earth itself, where he'd stood, was cratered as he flew into the air towards the thick of battle. A bloodthirsty smile crept on his face as he tore through the air, his wand arm leaving the side of his body and slowly making its way forward until the tip of it, ever crackling with barely restrained power, was ahead of him.

He'd never say it out loud but there was something freeing in being able to unleash like he was now. The thought of unleashing all that he had against Grindelwald…

The sound of the shockwave was loud enough for just under two dozen of the enemies to turn towards his direction who had been at the periphery of the battle, just beyond the tree line near the banks of the river in a semi clearing, casting from a distance whilst keeping his comrades at bay, and even from this distance, even from the ear shattering whistles of the air, he could hear their panicked voices, their panicked attempts to reorganise in the face of the new threat he represented.

Streams of killing curses were fired him, almost seemed to merge into a single beam of sickeningly acid green colour.

He twisted in mid-air, bringing his wand to bear as he spiralled in the air, a thick triple length shield came into existence metres in front of him. He willed himself to stop spinning as he set himself right once more. The streams of killing curses clanged and exploded against the shield, the malicious, powerful nature of the magic showed its destructive properties.

The large bronze shield shattered under the assault of over a dozen killing. With a simple flick of his right hand, he transfigured the largest piece into a square springboard that drifted in the air just below his central path and with a spin of the body, he met the board feet first and he crouched for a second before he pushed himself off, dashing the springboard backwards as he careened forwards towards the fools and with his free hand, he flicked the broken bronze towards them at breakneck speeds.

Time slowed to a crawl, the glowing tips of his enemies' wands turned towards him, fraction by fraction, scowls creeped on their faces in slow motion that poorly hid their panic as their eyes inched wider at the sight of him rushing towards them in the air under the cover of jagged sharps of metal.

The currents of magic flowed ever eternally, ever free from the constraints of time. His eyes watched the slow conversion of their internal magic into spells that hung on the tip of their tongues, their mouths moving at a snail's pace as his perception sharpened to a state where time seemed to be marching slowly.

Dark curses springed from their wands, whilst one of them once more let loose another killing curse.

The spells eked forwards towards him before his perception quickened as he twisted his wand, the jagged shards of bronze bursting into huge puffs of pitch black smoke that spiralled and formed into a smokescreen in front of him that moved at the same speed as he did.

He directed his free hand, palm facing the earth, downwards and with a push, changed his angle of approach expertly, no longer occupying the space the spells had been heading into.

With a flick of the finger, the smoke rushed forward and filled the area they had been in whilst he pointed his wand at himself and disillusioned, removed scents and silenced himself.

The spells flashed passed him and with a flick of the finger, the smoke rushed forward and crashed into where they stood, filling the area with dense pitch black smoke. He could tell they were trying to dispel the smoke but they would be unable to, even if they tried for a hundred years.

The ground approached and with a series of quick flicks, silenced the earth and cushioned the earth. He landed on the ground, his landing being as silent as a grave despite being mere metres away from his enemies who stood out to him, even in the blackest of colours, their magic unable to be dimmed even in the most obscuring smoke in the world.

He'd modified Fumos during his earliest experimentation when he'd grown frustrated with his failures of creating a shield against the killing curse, failing to create a sufficient answer to the off white frequency that was part of the spell matrix of the killing curse.

As a result of that…frustration, he created a smoke spell that incorporated elements of several spells, the most notable the ability to bypass magical shields and dispelling charms, which all used near identical dismissal methods, merely a difference in power usage, and as a result, he had the perfect smoke spell.

"Kje je on?!" one of them barked out in a panicked state as their attempts to dismiss the smoke stopped as they swivelled to and fro at the slightest of sounds.

He rushed forward behind one of the as he turned away and gripped the wrist of his wand hand and squeezed, eliciting an alarmed cry and the wand clattered from his hand and before the wand reached the ground, he sharply twisted the arm behind his back, causing a pained scream from his enemy, just as he wanted, and the man's knees buckled under the pain. He tried to struggle but it was in vain.

They'd turned sharply towards the origin of the scream and streams of dark curses headed his way in multiple directions before he took a step back and kicked the man in the centre of his back, magically enhancing the strength of his kick directly into the path of the majority of the spells, vaulting the man with a sickening crack as the man's spine shattered audibly, killing him before even the first spell had hit him as he was thrown in the air and the moment his foot return to the ground, Atticus dashed forward, his fingers twitching towards the earth.

Vines grew from the earth that followed him as he moved at high speeds towards the left cluster of enemies.

With a twirl of the wand, the vines grew into steel vines, the edges and the tip as sharp as any blade and he flicked two fingers towards the most isolated of the cluster whilst he dashed towards the centre of the enemies.

"Ta prekleti dim moramo razbliniti! Lovijo nas!" he heard one of them say in an agitated tone.

He'd closed the gap as he waded through the thick, permanent black smoke, his ability to see magic proving its use more than ever.

One of them had growled "Odpravljalni uroki ne delujejo, kaj pa ti-" what the man had intended to say, Atticus did not know, he'd been cut off as Atticus' vine struck the isolated man through the throat, gurgles replacing what been words.

"Uporabi ogenj, uporabi ogenj!" one of them bellowed and fires erupted from the tip of their wands, burning through the black smoke.

He clicked his teeth as a torrent of fire appeared in front him before he twisted his wand and caused the fire to spiral upward.

Shouts emanated from one of the men that made it clear they knew where he was and Atticus ducked and weaved out of the path of the stream of curses as the fire began to burn through the smoke and as he spun around, he noticed that the other two groups were heading his way.

He leaped forward, out of the way of a hailstorm of ice spears, once more getting into a sprint, now heading towards the direction of the man who'd sent the elemental spell at him and with a twirl of his wand, cast "Imprimis Patrocinor" a small but powerful shield that protected against all but the unforgivables.

"LIQUEFACIO" the man bellowed in a panic as the extremely dark curse erupted from his wand, the sickly orange black spell rushed towards him and his shield cracked against the overpowered spell but held and with a twitch of his index finger dismissed his shield as he arrived a mere thirty metres from the man.

He flicked his wand downward, the ground pooling into quicksand beneath his feet before he followed that up with a inhumanely fast sweep of the wand that sent a gust of gale wind towards him, preventing him from applying any counters to the quicksand that slowed his mobility as he nearly tipped over from the gust of wind.

He stopped his rush and with a thrust of the wand, he sent forth a blistering spell that seemed to crack reality as its glowing blue hue crashed into the man and an explosive with luminescent blues turned him into ash and with a dismissive wave of the wand, destroyed the ash structure that had remained behind, scattering it into the wind.

That was one of the more destructive spells he created, a magically wasteful spell but awfully effective.

It was quite amazing what one could create with an understanding of science, in this case, nuclear science…

'Time to wrap this up' he thought privately as a sharp smile cut across his face as he tilted his head slightly as a spell whizzed past his head. He's had his fun now. He once more poured more magic into his limbs and dashed forward, moving at tremendous speeds towards the encroaching enemies.

Some of the smoke began to clear, enough that they could see the outlines of movement but it was too late for one of them as he got into arm's reach of his target and he ducked underneath the outstretched arm that held his enemy's wand, and with an open palm struck at the elbow, unnaturally bending the arm in a down 'V' shape but he did not remain idle as he swivelled his wand around and jabbed it between the man's left ribs before letting off an overpowered piercing curse that tore through the dragon hide robes and pierced through the other side, ripping through flesh and bone, narrowly missing the closest enemy.

He ducked and used the dying's man's body as a shield before he dashed away, weaving through the streams of curses that now were becoming more accurate. He saw the more distant enemies burn away more of the smoke as shouts of what seemed to be orders rang.

He dropped the disillusionment charm and with a sharp turn made his way towards two men who stood side by side and were hurling spells at him.

He leapt and weaved his way out of the spells with fluidity before rushing forth and batting back the more destructive and explosive curses at them and as a killing curse approached, he flicked his wand and a piece of earth intercepted the killing curse before he drew back his wand and with an elaborate swing, as magic surrounded him in a faint glow, ripped the earth from their feet, the earth ground rumbling, shaking as a thousand tonne of earth rose into the air with them thrown on the ground of the raised earth, before he, with the continuous motion twisted his wand and jabbed at the floating mass whilst his free hand crackled with lightning.

One of them managed to throw themselves off at the last moment, not that it would save him, as a spark of lightning flew from his hand just as the sound of hissing grew louder. He rotated around, his wand sweeping around him as he wrapped himself in a bubble just as an ear shattering explosion ripped through the air, the transfigured oxygen having been ignited by the spark of lightning, and was strong enough to affect even the fighting at the centre as pieces of earth were sent flying, showering the field with debris and shockwaves threatened to level all in the near vicinity.

The explosion had the consequence of blasting away the thinning black smoke finally revealing him completely to his enemies who were for the most part back on their feet. As dust cleared, he could see the fear that was etched on their faces even as they slowly surrounded him, sixteen of them, their wands pointed at his direction.

The ground shook as some of the larger pieces impacted the ground and he stuck out his hand and with a deep breath brought out more of his magic. The larger pieces stopped their terminal flight and floated in the air before he brought about his wand and with a greater exertion than usual, sent out a wave of the vanishing charm, targeting specifically the larger pieces. They faded out of existence, he let go of his breath as he brought his arms back to his sides.

His shield was pelted with the debris whilst he gazed lazily at the destruction he caused, at the hole he's created. His eyes were aglow, magic crackled around him in a dim, faint fashion, ready to rise at the mere expression of will.

He turned slightly the largest cluster, towards the man who shone the brightest, indicating that he was the most powerful.

His show had the intended outcome as they looked him with fear in their eyes.

"Surrender and you'll live." He said in Latin with an impassive expression on his face, his arms remaining by his sides as his bubble shield faded away.

Murmurs rang out as they shifted nervously, their eyes meeting the others before they looked at a particularly burly man who met Atticus' gaze without fear in his gaze.

A man stepped forward and Atticus' eyes followed his actions lazily, his expression steely, his eyes cold.

"Never" he replied in Latin as his face twisted into a scowl before he spat on the floor "We never surrender"

The glow that surrounded him grew in intensity, the magic in the air thickened, causing them to grip their wands even tighter.

He smiled grimly. He did not expect any differently and in truth…

He did not care.

Atticus inclined his head "Very well." He slowly raised his wand as he got into his stance "Do not worry, I will make it quick" Atticus said in a calm tone.

The rest of the enemy men got into their stances, grim ashen faces looked at him with trepidation but a conviction that left him with a modicum of respect for them.

The man's eyes twitched for a moment before he grunted "We'll see, Provydetsi" the man's expression was cold and Atticus suppressed a desire to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

Even if wasn't a secret what his maternal side was, especially since the attack on his maternal family, he had not expected any to comment on it.

"Diffracto" one of the more twitchy men cried out and thus the battle began in earnest.

Atticus swept his wand in an arc, transforming the ground into a liquid puddle of stone and hundreds of arms, thrice the size of normal arms, stretched out of the puddle and sped towards the onslaught, still connected to the earth as if the bulk of their form remained submerged and they caught the spells, most of them shattering as they made contact with the spells.

Some of the spells cut through the stone constructs and raced towards him and he brought about his wand and with a contemptuous wave of his wand, a golden wave of magic poured out of his wand, shattering the spells as they made contact.

He saw the shock etched on their faces, their eyes widening, some even bulging with the display of his transfigurations, with his use of raw magic, likely something they had never seen before. He knew that they felt the raw magic for it would have left their skin tingling once it washed over them.

With the way he saw magic now, unravelling, or perhaps a more accurate description would be un-stabilising spell matrices was not a too difficult prospect.

He quietly strode forward, his eyes cold, as his direct path hardening into stone even as the rest of the earth around him resembled more like grey cloudy water with the way it rippled and undulated.

His movement snapped them of their shock and the battle ensued, a horde of deadly spells, many of them destructive tore towards him whilst others created armies of beasts that rushed forward.

His wand blurred with lightning speed as droplets of liquid earth rose from the rippling ground and with a flick dashed the hundreds of droplets towards their intended target.

Magic was as great as you could make it, Atticus mused serenely as he continued his casual pace towards his enemies, as a wall of spells rushed towards him, as flying beasts flew towards him and marauding creatures ran at him.

His free hand, clenched, rose above his hand and opened it up, a wave of magic rippling from him.

The droplets of liquid stone began to glow as they raced towards the spells.

Impossibility was merely a word that described the limitations of your imagination when there was magic.

The first few dozen droplets of glowing liquid stone made contact the curses that were mostly dark in nature and after a few seconds of pulsing in the same colours of the spells, absorbed the magic within it.

Other droplets of liquid stone, dozens of them made contact next as his enemies continued their assault before the burly man seemed to order them to stop and barked out another set of orders.

The droplets of liquid stone began to grow, morph, their colours changing from the dull grey of stone into marble like stone with ever shifting lines of vivid colours. He raised both hands, his wand hanging off his hand limply, the tip pointing downwards before he flicked both his wrists upwards.

The malicious magic of the dark curses were changed, shifting and repurposed as the liquid, glowing droplets of stone began to coalesce into clusters, the colours of various curses merging into crystal like colours.

His enemies hadn't been idle and they recognised whatever was going on was not good for them and they hurled explosive curses and dispelling charms at the crystalline stone.

His eyes were a turbulent storm of magic as he drew back his wand arm and with a simple motion jabbed forward.

The crystalline balls of stone split into two groups rushing towards the constructs that were not that far away from him now and sank into them. The constructs stilled as the magic of the crystalline began to reshape the transfigurations and conjurations into their purposes, his purposes and within a second, the creatures turned around and raced down towards the enemies who had originally created them.

They barked out disorganised orders as they broke into groups and sent of streams of curses at the creations.

The creatures were far nimbler and responsive now that he was in control of them and many of them managed to escape the onslaught but at least a third were destroyed before the first of the constructs managed to close the gap and leapt at them.

The man spun his wand around and conjured large stones that he sent like projectiles at the construct, shattering most of the hind legs and destroying a large section of the midriff.

Another large cat like creature ran at him and he shot off a Depulso at the thing that sent it careening into the sky.

He wasn't so lucky when a hawk like creature dove down and buried its talons into his face, causing him to cry out before he destroyed the hawk, three large gashes having been left in his face.

Blood dripped from his wounds and he closed the wounds with a simple healing spell that left long red lines on his face.

Before he could turn his wand to the next construct, he gasped out pained as his hand travelled to his wound in a panic before that gasp turned into an anguished cry and he fell to his feet, his wand pointed at himself hastily trying to counter whatever was ailing him.

Atticus didn't allow him the opportunity as a shadowwolf construct barged into him, knocking the wand out of his hand before the construct moved to the next.

He wasn't the only one ailing as several others had been scratched or bitten by this or that creature dropped to their feet, some worse off than the others.

One of them was literally set aflame as they burnt inside out whilst others were melting down.

It had taken him some time to determine how to do this, having remembered how he had been able to continue the magic of fire when his constructs had 'swallowed' it during his training sessions with his comrades.

He had reasoned, if he could do it to some scale with fire, why not spells in general? With the way liquid transfiguration was continuous, feeding from the magic he fed it and the way he saw magic, what was the difference between transfiguring matter and magic itself?

And so, he figured out a way to transfigure spells themselves, at least in a two-way system that 'bond' the spells to the liquid transfiguration once the spell matrices were made unstable.

All matter was connected to magic, to some amount. To transfigure matter was to transfigure some amount of magic. Spells were mostly a manifestation of magic through the medium of belief, imagination and will with a healthy amount of understanding.

And Atticus Sayre…

Atticus Sayre was a dreamer, one who sought to understand the code that allowed for dreaming, for creation to occur.

He knew it was possible for there was nothing impossible for magic.

And so, it happened, for he understood.

Creation could not happen without understanding and Atticus Sayre's desire to understand and create was insatiable and his imagination was vast.

To know is to create, to create is to know

Most of his constructs were destroyed now, less than half a dozen remained intact as they worked in pairs to destroy them lest they suffer the fate of their comrades. Many of them were just about hanging onto life and Atticus brought his wand to bear and a series of blindingly quick piercing hexes killed one, two, six enemies one after the other.

As the last construct was destroyed, there remained but seven of them and they worked in concert to attack him, their attack was ferocious.

It mattered not Atticus as he deflected, conjured and evaded the curses as he continued to close the gap as he casually strolled forward.

Two of them disappeared with a loud crack and Atticus swivelled around, his wand outstretched, the tip crackling with magic before he unleashed an iridescent torrent of white hot fire as he pivoted on the spot, the fire coalescing into a spiral firestorm that flashed forward just before they reappeared mere metres from him.

They screamed as they went up as easily as cotton before he put them down with a piercing hex to the skull.

The remaining five hadn't been idle as they took advantage of the distraction and unleashed massive cascading concussive spells that would have sent him flying, if not pulverised him.

He swept his wand with a flourish as he unleashed another wave of raw magic, destabilising the magic in the spells before he unleashed a never ending spray of devastating curses ripped from his wand.

Four.

One of them went down to Minus Cebres, a spell he crafted that caused bleeds in the brain.

They defended desperately as he relentlessly pressed the attack, never completely intending to end the battle quickly but nonetheless it was ceaseless.

He arced his wand as he unleashed Secaremillus, the spell he created as inspiration of Sectumsepra and the spell ripped through two of them, their bodies mangled from the thousand cuts that it caused them.

Two.

"Fiendfyre" the burly man unleashed in a rage.

An explosion of fiery spewed from the tip of the wand that the burly man held, a small amount of exertion showing on his face as the flames coalesced into a fiery dragon that loomed, its menacing eyes burning white hot as wisps of red flames made out its threatening face.

It shifted on its hind legs, its wings spread wide. It roared as it reared its head towards him and it charged, its flames wreathing, and writhing, insane in its quest driven by the madness of all consuming hunger.

The earth blackened, scorched under the unforgiving heat, life force consumed under its malicious magic.

Atticus watched the fiery construct with dispassionate eyes for a brief moment before he sprung to action, his arms outstretched, the tip of his wand facing the earth.

Magic crackled around him, the thickness of his magic surrounded him. His eyes were aglow as he waved his arms around like a conductor, the ground dancing to his tune as it rippled.

"RISE" Atticus' voice was guttural and disembodied as his voice sounded like a dozen men spoke at the same time.

A massive head rose from the ripping earth, liquid earth dripping from its form before the excess liquid morphed into pieces of stripped head cloth that formed around the head. A massive paw ripped out of the earth before the earth shook as the paw struck the earth and it heaved itself from the ground, as if it were hauling itself from a river.

Magnificent wings unfurled as its tail trashed against the ground and the Sphinx took to the air, its androgynous face snarling as it eyed the malicious fire and rushed forward, its mouth opening impossibly large.

The two constructs clashed, the malicious magic eating fire crashed against one another. The Sphinx buried its teeth into the nape of the fiery construct and sucked in the demonic fire even as its melted as the dragon clawed at it but Atticus continued to keep it intact, his concentration on incorporating the malicious magic into his Sphinx.

The fiery construct roared, its roar sounding less ferocious and more defensive than anything else as it continued to lose form even as his Sphinx turned into a solid form of magma. Its wings had wrapped around fiery construct, magma dripping all the time.

He returned his attentions towards the two men and found one of them missing much to his displeasure in his moment of distraction. The burly man was the only man who remained alive and with a silent pop, he arrived next to the man who, to his credit swivelled around with a dagger in his hand but it was to no avail as Atticus simply batted away the man's hand, the dagger sent flying, before plunging his wand in the man's chest and unleashing a piercing curse that pierced through his left lung, marking him for death. The man gasped, his wand clattered on the floor as he lost complete control over his Fiendfyre though it had not mattered.

His Sphinx had subsumed the Fiendfyre, the red black form of the Sphinx stood on its hind legs, its winds spread as its face contorted in victory and let out a victory cry that thundered.

Atticus let the man go and he fell to his knees.

"You fought well" Atticus didn't spare the burly man a look as he looked towards where he'd go next.

The man let off a wet chuckle that morphed into a blood filled cough "And you fought as if it was nothing" Atticus didn't say anything to that.

"I wish I could see the fight between monsters" the burly said in almost wistful tone. Atticus glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. The burly man looked delirious before he bowed his head.

The man sighed a long sigh, one that sounded almost like a final exhale but not before he murmured "The blood debt is fulfilled" before letting sweet oblivion take him and Atticus turned towards the man, his magic seeing eyes observing him closely as the spark of magic within him was dulling into slow nothingness that came with death.

He felt a pang of sorrow as he watched magic fade from his enemy.

For all of the necessity to inspire a legend, to create an image that would ensure none could ever touch his family, he felt…a kind of sadness at the magical lives that he was ending.

How many has it been since he killed? A hundred? Two? …Three?

He shook his head. The sooner this war was over, the sooner he'd no longer have to take so many magical lives.

He surveyed the area and saw no one alive. He clicked his teeth, it seemed there was one escapee after all. Atticus doubted the escapee would go to the battle and in truth, he wasn't all that aggrieved by the escapee. He returned his eyes to the still raging battles in front of him before turning away.

He quietly strode forward towards his red and black Sphinx construct, his wand slowly rising as magic swivelled around him. Magic began to crackle around him, a swirling mass of purple green magic surrounded him.

The construct eyed him before it brought down its wing like a set of stairs and Atticus eyes' shone. He twirled his wand and cast a flame freezing charm over the Sphinx before he got on top of it, settling on the nape of its neck.

The massive Sphinx took to the air, its fifty meter wingspan created a minor gale as it began to climb over the treeline just in front of the river. The Sphinx continued to climb, higher and higher until he hardly see the men fighting, the most distinguishable being the colourful streaks that he could faintly see from this height, despite his ritually enhanced eyes.

The Sphinx kept them aloft and Atticus could feel the sentient like fire within the Sphinx, once malicious but now one of rage, burning for action.

With a deep breath, taking in the thin air, he willed the Sphinx to dive.

The Sphinx stopped beating its wings and they began to fall. The Sphinx turned its nose downwards and tucked in its wings.

The wind howled in Atticus' ears and all he could do is merely smile joyously. He directed the Sphinx to lie in the path of the sun as they dove.

The battlefield grew larger and larger until it was time to pull up and the Sphinx stretched out its wings and Atticus almost lost his footing despite sticking himself onto the Sphinx as the force of sudden loss of momentum nearly hit him.

The Sphinx had cast a massive shadow onto the battlefield and the Sphinx let out a ear shattering roar from his humanoid face.

He leaped up and onto the head of the Sphinx, his eyes casting down at the battlefield. He saw he'd gained the attention of everyone, it was impossible not to, after all there was a massive Sphinx in the air.

He breathed in deeply. Magic surrounded him, wisps of power and strands of magic bled through his limbs, as magic crackled with every motion, with every twinge.

He turned some of that power inward and channelled through his body and with a much quieter, and slower, leap, he rushed forward in a blur as he ate up the distance between himself and the main collection of battles, his wand tip crackling with a purple hue of magic.

This time, he hadn't played around as the battle ensued.

His wand twisted and whirled a deathly song of carnage and destruction was being sung as he killed two, three, six of the enemy in quick fashion.

There were no impressive displays of magic here, nothing but merciless carnage was unleashed with deadly efficiency as the kill toll mounted.

In this moment, in this time…

He was a champion of Death, a ferryman who delivered the souls of the newly deceased to Hades as bodies piled in the river Sava Bahinjka.

He'd blurred forward, killing enemies with dismissive ease whilst he also shielded those who he'd spotted were struggling.

His actions almost comically ended the various duels and bitter fights were happening as they watched for a moment him ripping through their ranks.

Less than half an hour later, the battle ended with almost hundred and sixty prisoners all of whom surrendered not long after his efficient displays of magic.

As he walked amongst the prisoners, the looks of fear, the looks of awe that assaulted him once more pressed the weight of his actions, the consequences of his ruthlessness.

He shook off those thoughts and walked past the prisoners, thinking no longer on it.

5th of March 1943

Ljubljana, Slovenia

The Slovenian Ministry fell not long after they attacked the place, word had spread of their total victory at a stronghold that should have left them with greater casualties. Word of his prowess in magic had spread and he was growing in infamy.

As he walked through the ruined Ministry building, he'd been given a wide berth by the Slovenian people who had returned once news had been reached of their actions.

He spotted Bones coming towards him.

"We've confirmed the man who came in had been the previous Minister" he informed Atticus who nodded.

"Very well, I suppose he wants his Ministership back?" Atticus asked dryly as he gestured to Bones to walk with him.

Bones made a disgruntled noise "He does. In truth, we have no other option. We're not an occupying force and the ICW isn't going to be here until a couple of weeks at least"

Atticus' face soured "Yes." He said annoyed. They'd received the message to pretty much remain where they were not long before they assaulted the Ministry.

Soon enough, they walked into the conference room where Aleksis Szoboszlai and several of other individuals were waiting.

Parkinson and Delacour were there as well.

Szoboszlai eyes widened when he saw Atticus and after a few moments, a calculating glint entered them that soon was replaced with a jovial smile as he walked towards Atticus.

"Ah, Lord Sayre!" the man said happily as he extended a hand. Atticus looked at the hand for a moment before he took it, reluctantly.

"Mr Szoboszlai" Atticus said politely, reminding that he was not yet Minister and the man's smile strained before he chuckled it away. They parted their hands as Szoboszlai gazed at Atticus.

"I wanted to thank you" he turned to the rest of the men "and your men" he turned back to Atticus "For the great service you have done for the Slovenian people"

Atticus smiled diplomatically "No such thanks is needed. Supporters of Grindelwald are enemies of us all and allies come to each other's aid, do they not?"

Parkinson's eyes lit up in amusement. It was no secret that Szoboszlai, during his tenure as Ministership, had wavered when the call for aid by Hungary had come only for Grindelwald to help along a coup in Slovenia itself.

"Ah…quite" Szoboszlai said a little nervously as Atticus' eyes bored into the man. If he hated anything, he hated disloyalty.

Loyalty freely given was something to be cherished. Loyalty had to be honoured.

To do otherwise…

As they took their seats, Szoboszlai outlined his desire to return to the Ministership, knowing that any decisions right now had to be agreed by Atticus and his men. Of course he could wait until the ICW was back but they might not agree to him returning, especially given that he was not all that liked by…anyone.

He was a career politician that cared not about anything, merely where the wind had been blowing and had circumstances been different, he would have aided Grindelwald with pleasure.

In the end, Atticus granted the man his Ministership back and his backing for the position with the Eastern ICW forces in return for two future favours of the Slovenian Ministry, bound by contract, regardless who was in the position of Minister.

He had no need for it at present but it could come in handy.

The rest of the talks had been how many of the original Slovenian Ministry still lived in the country. There wasn't much so they'd run on a skeleton crew until the ICW could sent in aid.

Many of the prisoners were willing to turn against their former allies and leaders had spilled much about the activities that had been going on in the country, making it easy to round up the chief instigators if they hadn't left already.

They'd had been lucky and managed to seize significant amount of money from the various safe houses that they'd raided. There wasn't much else beyond potions and ingredients, a few interesting books but nothing particularly special, unfortunately.

Nurmengard was certainly on the list of places to raid at some point. Grindelwald no doubt had a great deal of rare and obscure books on magicks long forgotten. He almost salivated at the prospect.

Soon enough he was left alone in the office with Parkinson who seemed to want to talk to him.

"You're going to have to tone down the way you fight" Parkinson began suddenly after a moment of silence.

Atticus tilted his head "Why would I do that?" hiding his great surprise at the topic of discussion.

Parkinson's lips curled "Unless you want to give ammunition to your enemies, not the likes of Grindelwald or dark wizards, but the light wizards, the ones that most of the population listens to"

Atticus said nothing for a moment but Parkinson continued anyway "I do not know…exactly" Parkinson said, deliberately hanging on exactly for a moment to long "what you intend on doing in the future but I do know you've been…careful with the way you have fought."

Atticus thinned his lips as he stared at Parkinson. Parkinson had always been the more observant of his comrades. "Are there concerns in our camp?" 'Have I lost their trust?' he meant and Parkinson understood.

"No" Parkinson said simply "But your ruthlessness, whilst making many of them look at you in awe at your power, it is also making many…" Parkinson paused for a moment "nervous"

Atticus scowled for a moment as he took it in "Nervous about what? It's not as if I am being monstrous" Atticus said with a little exasperation in his voice.

"Nor am I doing anything different from what I was doing before"

"Before it was not as apparent how easy it is for you to kill" Parkinson pointed out, stopping Atticus in his tirade.

"Easy?" Atticus turned to Parkinson "Do you think this is easy for me?" Atticus voice was as cold as ice as he levelled a piercing gaze at the man.

"Yes." Parkinson simply answered, meeting Atticus' gaze "Killing is easy for you, there is no doubt about it." Parkinson leaned forward, his eyes unblinking "But before…you did not fight as ruthlessly as you are now, you did not fight mercilessly and most important of all, you did not enjoy killing as you are now"

Atticus looked at Parkinson in suppressed shock as he looked at away with a frown. Was he enjoying himself too much as he fought?

"There are several kinds of men, Lord Sayre" Parkinson continued in his usual calm, emotionless tone. "Those who wish to leave legacies behind and achieve it, and those who do not. Those that do leave one behind never lost sight of the goal" Parkinson stood up and made way towards the door but stopped for a moment.

"You're an Archmage Lord Sayre. It never makes people comfortable to see one such as yourself capable of killing so easily…of enjoying it. Be wary you do not destroy your legacy before it even begins" Parkinson said finally before he left.

Atticus stared at the ceiling as he sat alone in the conference room. Parkinson would not have told him this if there was not genuine concern about his actions.

He was conflicted and he was uncertain. He did not care for the deaths he'd caused other than the sorrow he felt for the wasted potential but there was true it mattered how they saw him. If they thought he could wield his ruthlessness against them…

In truth, he understood it.

It was too easy to take life for him, too easy to mow down scores of wizards with but a wave of the wand. Was this what the archmages of old felt like, the sheer disparity between them and the others?

Did they value other mages less because of their strength of magic or because how easy it was to disregard them, almost as if they were just slightly stronger muggles?

Was he falling in the trap of so many mages of old?

History showed the greatest of leaders all shared the same three things; they knew what they did, how they did it and to achieve it, and why they did it. They knew their purpose, what their cause was, what their belief was and why their movement or organisation or nation existed.

The greatest of leaders knew how to get others to buy into their cause, to believe in them.

Was he in the process of losing their belief in him with the way he fought?

Atticus sighed as he closed his eyes. Leaders are meant to be greater than those who follow. Kings and rulers are meant to be as close to infallible as possible.

Atticus shook his head.

Perhaps it would be better to take a more…defensive duty until he was needed against enemies that required him to intervene.

After all, there would be little to love about a ruthless killer by the masses. He'd save that face when he wasn't fighting under an audience.

-Break-

8th of March 1943

GRINDELWALD INJURES CHARLESTON AND WINS BATTLE BUT THE CONFLICT IN BELGIUM REACHES STALEMATE AS HEAVY CASUALTIES ON BOTH SIDES MOUNT!

By: Jean Tullpickle

The bitter war waged in Belgium grew to an unresolved conclusion as Dark Lord Grindelwald struck a devastating blow to Charleston, one where it was reported he was lucky to escape with his life!

This has been unwelcome news to the vast majority of people as hopes had been piled on Charleston on defeating Grindelwald and bringing a rapt end to this war that has claimed thousands of magical lives.

The duel between the two magical titans was even more ferocious than the last encounter whereby Charleston had forced a withdraw from Grindelwald as he employed his prodigious talent in Runes to what seemed to be a trap of some kind but one Grindelwald managed to overpower and escape.

The duel has left Charleston injured only through quick thinking had Charleston and the remaining ICW forces managed to escape…

9th of March 1943

DUMBLEDORE TO ENTER WAR? EYE WITNESSES ACCOUNT DUMBLEDORE IN MINISTER OF MAGIC OFFICE FOUR TIMES IN JUST THREE DAYS!

By: Jean Tullpickle

With the uncertain fate of Charleston, it seems that the future is grim but there is yet hope!

With the outstanding efforts of our very own Lord Sayre, it seems clear that much will lie on our young hero's shoulders but there may be a dark horse that can defeat the scourge that is the Dark Lord Grindelwald!

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore may yet leave Hogwarts and enter the war much like Headmaster Charleston had done!

After many years of criticism over his inaction, one that has only grown over the past year, it seems that Albus Dumbledore may yet prove he is a champion of the People!

Experts claim…

-Break-

11th of March 1943

Ucka Mountain Range, Western Croatia

Hirahito POV

The ground splintered under the power of his spell before he dashed forward, his arm slightly behind as he leapt forward and swung his arm in an upward arc.

The enemy, still discombobulated from being thrown off his feet, attempted to raise his wand to cast a shield but he was struck before he could get half way there.

SHHLICK!

His opponent cried out as his katana cut through the man's forearm, leaving a small stump, blood pouring out like a broken down faucet, connected to the rest of the wand arm.

With a swivel of his body and a sharp extension of his sword arm, the head of his opponent was separated from his body, his eyes still looking downwards, and before the head could fall onto the ground, Hirahito ran passed the still standing body, a quick jerk of the sword arm splashed remnants of the blood from the shining metal before he returned the blade to its sheath.

As he ran forward, his eyes surveyed the battle that was raging in front of them, their eighth in the last three weeks.

Flashes of spells coated the air, duels and fights to the bitter end was happening all around him as they fought the last remnants of Grindelwaldites in Croatia.

He spotted Delacour and Miguel Alcaranta combating side by side as they took down an enemy before his eyes swivelled towards the left and he watched Parkinson take down enemies with deadly precision as Longbottom barrelled into the enemy with powerful spells.

This was their last battle in the south east before they'd go into the heartlands of Grindelwald territory in Belgium.

Once they'd secured Switzerland and ferried out the prisoners to an ICW held stronghold in Southern France, they'd move onward towards the East, a decision that was spawned from the successes in the Eastern Front and a directive from the ICW.

The series of victories that had been won, hard fought yet at the same time almost trivial despite the near thousand of combatants they'd faced, had inspired a kind of invincibility in this force…in this army.

He did not know what had changed Sayre's mood or his agency but he had been more intense and driven yet lost none of his fire that drew so many to him. If anything, it only grew, the fires of purpose and destiny had been clear to see in his eyes.

It had been infectious, the young man's indomitable certainty of victory.

He'd ran training drills in such a way that it would have made his old sensei look on with approval in his eyes.

'If you are a step quicker, you would be able to stop a curse from killing you. If you are that much faster in your casting, you would be able to save your comrade from death.

These drills are to make sure you have every chance to live through this war. If I see you not giving it your all, I will assume you are unwilling to do what is necessary to succeed and by proxy I will know you do not care enough to do all you can to not fail your fellow comrade and that…is…unacceptable.'

Despite his body having grown weak under the years of imprisonment, he'd taken to the training like he'd always done it, sheer will had pushed him forward. Not all had however, out of the two hundred and fifty out of three hundred that had decided initially to join the war, more than a fifth had dropped out after the first training session and only hundred and seventy or so had managed to prove their conviction.

It seemed however, to be worth it. After battle after battle, after victory after victory, those who had been broken and dispirited, grew in confidence and life returned to those haunted eyes until those same eyes now shone with such ferocity and determination that one would ill believed they were the same people.

The ground rumbled and his eyes turned to the sound and dozens of massive tendrils of liquid stone race, dash and strike with abandon.

He watched as he saw one of the tendrils sharpen into a spike and ripped through an enemy before it splintered off into dozens vines like whips that weaved their way through the battlefield, seeking out an enemy to unbalance by ripping their feet from under them or wrapping around their bodies leaving easy targets for his allies…Sayre's men.

He turned to the source of the magic and saw the all too familiar of purple green aura that swivelled and swirled around him as he weaved his wand with such elegance even as he stood still in an imperious fashion, as if he was not in the midst of a battle.

The world seemed to be at his command as he raised earth, the earth rumbling as he fashioned transfigurations that seemed to be never ending, as he conjured hundreds of constructs from the air but with a wave of his wand.

A dozen men were hurling spells at him but it was to no avail, no spell even reached the midway before the spell was intercepted and a hailstorm of constructs rained down on them, several of them were, according to the person he questioned the first time he'd seen them, Valkyries with spear wielding women wearing battle armour who seemed to have some sort of semblance of intelligence as they threw spear after spear at the enemies which only served to be a distraction as the ground warped around them, the earth shifting into a great set of maws that several of them had fallen into, if they were lucky. Others had been cut just as the maws closed their jaws, bitten in half.

It never ceased to make him wonder at the young man, the young man who did impossible things with magic that should have been beyond him, beyond anyone.

The brutality of the earlier battles had been replaced with a more…serene way of fighting, even if it was still incredibly effective. It seemed once more something had changed in the boy but the magic…

Magic seemed to be at his beck and call, subservient where others had to coax, to dominate but for him…

He slid under a bludgeoning curse before he snapped off his wand and responded with a chain of spells.

He sidestepped a killing curse before the wand in his hand twisted and twirled with a deathly vengeance, dodging and weaving as he did so. He summoned hundreds of shards of white hot remnants of molten steel and transfigured them into wakizashi before he blasted them towards his enemy in several waves, each of them differing speeds.

His enemy hastily raised a shield as the waves of wakizashi impacted against it. The man was pushed back against the force, a consequence of the kind of shield he was using. His feet were digging into the earth but it wasn't enough as he kept on being pushed back.

There were several variants of shields, ones that dispelled the spells they were hit by as long as there was a continuous feed of magic of the caster, ones that had a certain initial strength that the caster is responsible for at the beginning that can only take a certain amount before the shield is worn or torn away, and the last was a semi physical shield that uses a constant feed of magic that would deflect or absorb magic but there would be a physical consequence in cases such as this.

He spotted several enemies, four of them, heading his way as spells flew from the tip of their wands.

His hand went for the hand of his katana and with a smooth motion, the beautiful sound of the sword exiting the scabbard whistled in the air, the long blade was out and pointing towards the incoming enemies whilst his wand traced a spiral in the air and with a sudden jerk,

"風の刃" ⸨Kaze no ha⸩

A shockwave erupted from the tip of his wand, a cyclone of devastating power shred through the air with faint blue white sheen in a cone like shape ever expanding as it tore through the air and the earth.

The cyclone shredded the earth in long crisscross shapes as it descended on the man who'd been shielding against the wakizashi who had been breathing heavily under the strain of keeping the shield up.

The man's eyes widened in shock and fear before he strengthened the shield as much as he could but it would not matter, Hirahito knew this. He ducked out of the way of the spells the four enemies were sending his way, before he lashed out with his katana and struck at the Lacero curse, the spell having been deflected back at the enemy. His katana was enspelled to be capable of deflecting curses of some strength. It was not strong enough to deflect the more powerful curses but middling spells like Lacero?

His katana could deflect a dozen of them without issue.

A panicked sound caused him to cast his eyes towards that direction. The cyclone had been halted under the strength of the shield but he could see it would be destroyed in matter of seconds. Moments later, the shield shattered the shield and tore the man into shreds, flesh and bone had not mattered as the man was reduced to mere pieces of meat.

He had no time to think on it any further as he sidestepped and ducked out of the way of a hailstorm of spells, on occasion using his katana to deflect curses away or redirect them to one of them.

He was reduced to a defensive stance as they widened their encirclement and besieged him with a hail of spells, a significant of them being killing curses.

As they waded from one battle to another, the enemy had stopped refraining from using killing curses and more than a few of his allies had died from this shift.

He used every single lesson his sensei had imparted on him on the arts of evasion, on the arts of flowing from one stance into another as his katana twisted and deflected as an extension of his body and he kept his enemy on their toes as he returned fire with likeminded ruthlessness.

A gasping scream ruptured into the air as his spell struck his enemy, one that burned out lungs, one that set lungs aflame.

He was blasted of his feet as his enemies combined to send concussive curses at his feet, leaving him no time to counter all of them. Before he landed, the ground morphed into a number of spikes and with a hasty flick of the wand, he transfigured the spikes into hay as he fell onto them and just as he fell into them, he fluidly returned his katana to its sheath. He rolled onto his back before he swivelled his legs upward and backwards, using the momentum to flip himself back to his feet.

He raised Aegis Contego just in time to shield against a bleeding breath curse, one that liquefies lungs, a morbid spell that had to have been deliberate in response to their fallen comrade.

His shield was pelted with shield breakers, dozens of them causing cracks to appear in his shield before he dispelled and cast Suffisio and a storm of whirling water sprang forth that spiralled towards his enemies in a wide cone.

Flames of differing colours ripped from the tip of their wands and met the spiral torrent of water and an explosion of steam obscured their vision, long enough for him to set himself.

"体を増幅する" ⸨Karada o zofuku suru

He intoned, the amplifying charm that strengthened the body and he felt the strength within his body triple, quadruple and he bent his knees as his hand went to his katana and in a blur, his katana left its sheath, the tell-tale whistling sound adding a foreboding feeling to his enemies, he hoped.

He surged forwards through the steam, darting past spells that were fired by his opponents, swivelling and turning mid stride as he ate up the distance until he broke free from the cloud of steam, the droplets of water sticking to his body as he ran at inhuman speeds.

Their eyes widened in surprise and shock before they conjured and hurled spells at him. He slid underneath the chain of spells before he leapt forward against his closest enemy and gripped his katana with both hands and brought the katana over his shoulder just before he twisted out of the way of a spear that just grazed his right arm.

The look of abject fear did nothing to halt his next move as he brought down his katana in a wide arc and he cut the man from his right shoulder to his left hip.

"AARRRRRRRGGH" he screamed helplessly and Hirahito swivelled around and took of the man's head before he dodged out of the way from a blood boiling curse.

He ducked and weaved out of the way as they tried to eviscerate him before he once more closed the gap between himself and another enemy and he just about managed to raise a shield that blocked a flesh eating curse.

The enemy tried to back up but it was too late as Hirahito took his katana with both hands and with a swipe, took half the man's head before he once more rushed past and darted towards the next enemy.

He danced his way out of a stream of Ardeo curses before he took that man's life. He ducked under a flaying curse and a torrent of lightning spewed from his wand that struck the target.

He leapt in the air, twisting as he did so, out of the way from a sickly orange spell before he twirled around and dashed towards the origin of the curse, his katana hovering just above the ground behind him as he closed the distance.

A stream of curses were sent his way that he weaved out of the way and a well placed explosive curse nearly took him out but he managed to only just use the explosive power as a way to propel himself faster, and in mid leap, he holstered his wand and took his katana with both hands.

The man's face was one of panic and a stream of fire erupted from the man's wand and Hirahito knew he had no chance to evade this. He clenched his katana fast and lashed furiously at the incoming fire.

The torrent of fire was split in two, just enough for him to pass through but not without licks of the flames singeing him as they merged back up, pain coursing through him as his legs are scorched.

His face pinched as he clenched his teeth, fury showing in his eyes as he emerged from the flames, the fear in his eyes and he swung his katana, the attempts of his enemy trying to step back was futile and as he returned back on solid ground, the arm and jaw of the man scattered on his left, Hirahito nearly buckled as pain seared through his body.

He threw himself to the ground as he got under a spell and just before he could get up, "Avada Kedavra" he heard behind him and he swivelled around and knew that it was too close to duck out of the way and he had his wand holstered.

He threw his katana into the path of the killing curse and his katana shattered into two as it met the killing curse and he used the moment's reprieve to roll on the floor, un-holstering his wand and letting loose a stream of curses, one of which knocked his enemy down and he followed it up with a bisecting curse that took off his head.

He spun around and watched closely for any remaining enemies and found himself alone, muddied, his legs burning with pain.

He waved his wand around him, cast a healing spell and dulled the pain and took the moment to assess the situation.

Towards the centre of the battle, he saw Sayre there as if he were a beacon, drawing fire and dealing with it as it were nothing.

He watched as shields and stone men rose from the very earth taking curses and spells, many of them the distinct flash of green, broken apart intended for him and his allies, only for the constructs to re-form into projectiles sent careening towards their targets.

Three massive serpentine hydras rose from the ground, their forms rippling as if they were made from quick sand though it was clear they were anything but solid hard stone from the way they pounded the earth with their large tails.

He watched as they tore through the enemy ranks, impossibly nimble and fast. Sayre's use of transfiguration was unlike any he'd seen before and the way he used it to save the lives of the men…

He'd seen the looks the men and women had given Sayre, the look of deepening loyalty as they waded into from one battle into another, as he saved them from a curse or another. As they battled from one fight to another, as they regained the loss of confidence, the former prisoners looked to Sayre as close to a saviour one could be.

The ICW fighters were far more reserved but Sayre was infectious and he did not doubt that he had a small measure of their loyalty now too.

Hirahito disillusioned himself and took a step towards his shattered blade. His lips thinned as he eyed the broken blade. It was not the greatest of swords, he had only forged it within a few days but it had been the first blade he'd made in many a year.

He sighed before he returned his gaze towards the battlefield. The wounds were from dark flames, he could feel the continued touch of the flames despite having applied a strong healing charm.

He could continue but he would not risk it, not would without his blade and certainly not when it was not needed. Sayre had this in hand as he turned away from the battle. There were several more battles to fight after today, after all.

Days later, he sat in the infirmary tent, rolling his right shoulder that was bandaged. It seemed that the spear that had hit him had been more of a dark spell than a conjuration as it left a permanent scar on his right arm. He'd been hit twice after that initial injury there and it seemed to have been aggravated a little.

"You'll feel some discomfort for the next few days on your upper arm but it should not cause you any further issues" Healer Dorea told him in a kind tone as she looked up from her parchments that were in her hand. Her brilliant purple eyes were a different colour to Sayre's, they were brighter and held a certain kindness that he had not seen many years. Before he could dwell on that, she broke eye contact and wrote something down on the parchments, speaking as she did so "The other wounds on your legs will take a week to heal completely – the spell that you were hit with, Arduo Flagerus, is a dark fire curse that can permanently destroy muscle tissue but you were lucky for the most part as little muscle tissue was affected, the robes took the brunt of the spell's power. Although" she paused for a moment as she looked up with a frown "You've exacerbated the injury by not going to a healer after the battle you got it from. For the next few days, you'll have to minimise walking to make sure you don't extend the time it will take for the salves to heal it"

"I see" he said simply as he looked down at his legs. He could feel a certain tightness in his legs, particularly his left that he'd felt for the last few days, even if it was lessened. He'd favoured his right leg for the past few days, unwilling to put too much pressure on his leg as they battled their way into the Croatian Ministry. A significant amount of pain lessening charms had been used through those days.

He turned to her and with a nod, agreed with her. She gave him a tiny smile before she left his side and proceeded down the tent to another patient.

He turned his head towards the table where his sheath and broken katana lied which he eyed with an emotionless mask.

He'd created the katana in four days, drawing on the knowledge he'd gained from under the tutelage of one of the most venerated blacksmiths in the current era in the Forging class at Mouhotokorou.

It had been quite a stir, the news that he'd elected that class, a class that was distinctly taken by the common and lesser nobilities, not by someone from the ruling families. Only by the word of his grandfather had he been allowed to continue and it hadn't been because he disagreed with it being something beneath him.

'If he wishes to take on a commoner's class, let him be. Perhaps that is all he will be good for'

He'd continued the class, despite the scorn he'd earned, despite the burning shame he felt and he'd learnt much about the art of forging. Not enough to become a master but enough to be able to create good weaponry and artefacts.

It seemed however, as he spied at the broken shaft of his katana, there was a limit to his talents.

A few days passed and he'd been getting more and more restless as time passed. If there was one thing he hated since his incarceration, it was idleness and just as he was dwelling on how uncomfortable being stuck in the infirmary was, he'd heard someone's steps draw nearer, the weight of the steps different from the assigned healers to this part of the infirmary.

He turned to the origin of the sound and he kept the surprise of his face. The young man was dressed in comfortable robes which was a new sight for him.

"Lord Hirahito" Sayre said respectfully as he took his arms behind his back.

"Lord Sayre" Hirahito said with an incline of the head as he eyed the young man curiously. He had not spoken individually with the man even if he observed him from a distance. From the look of Sayre's eyes, he wondered if perhaps he had not been as discreet as he might have been given the intensity shown in the young man's purple green eyes. His eyes flickered to the broken blade next to his bed before they returned to Hirahito.

"May I?" he gestured towards the seat next to the bed and Hirahito gave a short nod and Sayre sat down though he did not miss the slight twinging of the fingers as he felt his skin prickle slightly.

He suppressed the desire to narrow his eyes at the rudeness of casting magic without informing your companion. The magic was not malicious, he could feel that and he suspected it was likely to make sure none could overhear their conversation.

Still, he did not approve of the casual way he did so.

A few moments of silence passed as they each observed one another.

"How long will you be here?" Sayre questioned curiously.

Hirahito tilted his head in mild surprise at the question "For another few days" he said calmly, leaving out any disgruntlement from his tone.

Sayre hummed in understanding "I see." His eyes once more flickered towards the shattered blade "We'll be leaving in three days" Sayre's eyes met Hirahito's once more "Do you believe you will be recovered enough to come?"

Hirahito nodded "I will be" Even if he was not, he would come anyway. His injury would be able to heal on the way.

Sayre's eyes shone in approval before he nodded "Good."

Hirahito could not help but ask "What is with the urgency?" Was it related to the seemingly secret nature of this…visit?

Sayre leaned back in his chair and take a few moments before he spoke next "We will be attacking Grindelwald in Belgium next. We've been contacted by the Eastern ICW forces and they're sending in forces that will act as peacekeepers and will also function to hunt down any remaining Grindelwald loyalists within Slovenia and Croatia now that we've cleared the way for them." Sayre's eyes darkened slightly.

"With the way things are going in Belgium, we need to continue the pressure on Grindelwald and what better way than to do it ourselves."

Hirahito eyed the young man critically. "We'd face him there, most likely." He commented calmly.

"I'm aware" Sayre said with an expressionless face.

Hirahito did not envy the young man. Pressure was rising on him, with each victory, with each incredible display of magic, to face Grindelwald.

Hirahito did not know if the young man was capable of defeating Grindelwald. Logic said that he would not be able to, despite his power, despite his fighting prowess.

There was over half a century of experience between them, a half century of knowledge. It was a gulf that logically was insurmountable.

But then…

Magic did not run on logical lines. It was a force that could be shaped by belief as much as ability.

In that sense, he might have a chance.

And from what he had seen of the young man…

"Will you be able to forge another blade in time?" The question almost startled Hirahito. He turned to the broken blade with a frown.

"No" Hirahito reluctantly answered "I will have to go without a blade until I have time" he answered calmly despite the unsettling feeling he had. He had come…accustomed to wielding blade and wand.

Hirahito turned back to Sayre who grew a small smile and a glint in his eye. He couldn't help but narrow his eyes suspiciously.

"I might be able to help you there" Sayre said with a smile in his voice.

"Oh?" Hirahito questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not terrible at forging, nor am I terrible with enchanting" An amused glint entered Sayre's eyes.

Hirahito's eyes turned to slits. The amused glint reminded him of his brother in their youth when he'd done something mischievous though he suspected this glint was mischievous in the sense that he was understating his skills.

"Is that so?" Hirahito couldn't help but let a bit of bemusement creep into his voice.

Sayre's smile twisted into a genuine broad smile "Quite" before he turned serious "If you would like…I could fashion you a katana?"

Hirahito had a number of questions, questions such as 'And how are you able to forge when it takes masters and journeymen many years to become good enough?'

But he suspected he would not receive a…acceptable answer.

Hirahito nodded "You may." He tilted his head "Have you made one before?" he doubted it.

"I haven't" Sayre admitted "I have made swords and spears before but not a katana" Sayre paused for a moment as he considered something.

"Conjure a katana for me…one that will last a few days at least" Sayre asked of Hirahito.

Hirahito understood why and he drew his wand from his wrist holster and conjured a katana, a copy of his own. He gripped the hilt and raised the katana before outstretching his arm and hummed in approval. Perfect weight and balance.

He turned to Sayre and with a flick turned the blade around and offered the hilt to the man.

Sayre took it and studied it carefully before he raised it and felt the weight of the katana himself.

He rested the blade in his lap, his fingers touching the contours of the blade at the dull side until he arrived at the tip. "It will take a few days, likely not before you're out of the infirmary" Sayre looked up from the blade "But before we are set to go"

Hirahito eyed him intently. "You believe you can make a blade such as this in a such a small amount of time?"

Sayre smiled and it was a sharp one "I do. It'll be different but I will be able to do it"

Hirahito wisely did not say anything and simply nodded. Perhaps there was still a youth of foolishness in the boy if he truly believes he could make a blade that he could wield.

Days passed and Hirahito was discharged from the infirmary much to his pleasure. He'd made his way towards one of the peaks of the mountains once he'd parted from the camp that lied at the base of one of the mountains of the mountain range Volka, the mountain range where most of the population of mages resided.

From what he was told, the muggles believed much of these mountain areas to be desolate and uninhabitable but that was just what they were made to believe. The Croatian Ministry was nestled in between two mountains with over several dozen magical villages around it that represented most of the population of mages in Croatia.

He took a deep breath and took in the fresh mountain air that reminded him of home. His own family's estate lied near a mountain and he fondly remembered the days of his adventures with his brother and cousins.

He banished those nostalgic thoughts as he turned his gaze towards the villages and the farms that dotted the space between the mountain, the fresh lakes that were as clear as glass.

The Balkans, he was told, were not a great place for magicals to be around muggles and so many did not attempt to live amongst the muggles having retreated to enclaves such as this.

It left him…uneasy.

His own people had aspirations of returning to the fold of the Empire, to be amongst the elite as they once been.

But was it corrupted by nostalgia?

Would they be accepted as they had once been, in this new world of theirs, a world where mages despite being powerful could be killed in easier ways, where mages were outnumbered by thousands to one?

He sighed, the cool air around him causing his breath to become visible.

Perhaps…

He stilled for a brief moment before he twisted around, his wand pointing towards where he felt the disturbance.

"Impressive" Sayre said calmly even as he stood with his arms behind his back.

Hirahito narrowed his eyes "How long have you been there?"

"Half a minute" Sayre answered immediately and it was one that left Hirahito wishing to groan and berate himself. He could have died in that time.

"Most would not even notice" Sayre continued, seemingly picking up on his thoughts.

Hirahito narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he was. Hirahito had Occlumency shields, one that was required by the many disciplines of his family and people but he was not arrogant enough to believe he was the best at it.

Hirahito dropped his arm but kept his wand drawn. He did not believe Sayre was an enemy but certainly someone to be wary of. Not that he believed he could truly defeat this…anomaly of magic.

Sayre brought his arms from his back and was holding a scabbard that he turned horizontal as he held it with both hands. Hirahito's eyes widened.

The black scabbard glistened in the noon sun, the tiny golden inscriptions of runes were difficult to see but it was there, beautiful arraigned in a design that he recognised.

The hand guard piece, the tsuba was unlike any he'd seen before, the distinct square shape of it that curved ever so slightly at the edges.

His eyes travelled towards the Tsuka and he recognised the clear Japanese nature of the design. The Ito, was beautifully braided into the Mekugi.

"It was quite the learning curve" Sayre began, drawing away his eyes from the scabbard and looked at him.

"A learning curve that lasted four days?" Hirahito questioned unbelievingly as he looked at the scabbard again.

Sayre laughed "Relatively speaking" There was that glint again and Hirahito's eye twitched.

Sayre grew serious and extended his arms "Take it" he told Hirahito calmly and Hirahito stepped forward.

He reached out to the scabbard and curled his hands around the hilt before he put a hand on the Tsuka, the handle.

With a smooth motion, he took the katana from the scabbard and it whistled magnificently, as it was capable of cutting the very air.

The weight of the katana was heavier than his old one but the balance was perfect.

His eyes roved over the mostly silver grey sword and his eyes fixed on the hamon and the yokote, the tempered and dividing lines of the blade. The hamon had a distinctly golden hue to it, almost as if it seemed to glow whilst the yokote was more silvery than it was silver grey like the rest of the blade.

"The golden hue is a by-product of the forging process" Sayre spoke up and Hirahito glanced at him for a moment before returning his eyes to the blade, his eyes admiring every inch of the blade.

Hirahito angled the sword slightly and watched the light of the sun hit the blade. The shinogi, the blade ridge and the hi, the groove were all made to a standard that he would have expected from a master blacksmith.

He conjured a piece of parchment that he dropped on the ha, the edge of the blade, and it cut without needing any further action.

'What a masterpiece' Hirahito marvelled.

"Has it been bespelled to cut?" Hirahito questioned as he watched the two pieces of parchment fall to the ground.

"No." Sayre said calmly and Hirahito glanced at him with widened eyes before Sayre continued "The edge of the blade is simply that sharp" Sayre smiled as his eyes glinted "It is simple matter of understanding and ability to make something that sharp"

Hirahito wanted to laugh.

'A simple matter of understanding?'

Truly, what was this boy?

"What of the material?" Hirahito doubted that this was steel. Even if he said it was simple, no steel alloy he knew of would be able to keep its edge without magic.

"Adamantite" Sayre answered calmly.

"Adamantite?" Hirahito questioned confused. He had not heard of such material. Was it an alchemic metal?

"You might know it as Heaven's metal" Sayre answered and Hirahito turned sharply at the man, his eyes boring into him.

"You have enough Heaven's metal to forge a katana?" Hirahito asked sharply, his tone a little tight. Heaven's metal was considered to be the ultimate material. Scores of blacksmiths over the ages had sought the material but never had there been enough to truly forge anything even if the few skilful had been able to melt it.

The temperatures required for this material were obscene and only those who held certain family secrets were able to achieve such temperatures.

Sayre smiled and it was a secretive one but he did not answer. In truth, Hirahito did not need a verbal answer to know that Sayre likely had more of it if he was willing to forge a katana for a stranger, even if they were comrades.

Hirahito extended his sword arm and narrowed his eyes as he looked at the blade.

The Kissaki, the point was perfectly formed and the Boshi , the curved edge that met the tip was as good as any katana he'd seen.

Hirahito was never truly baffled, shocked yes, surprised yes…

But baffled?

How was it possible this boy could create this masterpiece? He would have called the boy a liar had he not been certain that the boy did make this, despite how difficult it was to be believed.

He looked up from the blade and met Sayre's gaze. "This…"

Sayre merely smiled "It is likely my best piece of work" Sayre said with a prideful glint in his eyes, his expression was one of being pleased with oneself, one that Hirahito was surprised about.

Sayre continued "It has the capability of being blood-bonded to you once you drop seven droplets of your blood onto the hilt. Not only that, once it is bonded to you, it can function somewhat like a focus." Hirahito's eyes widened.

Sayre smiled and shook his head "Not like a normal focus – no…I am not that skilled" he smiled sardonically "But it can channel your magic, in a…raw form. Some kinds of magic, like elemental will likely work. It'll be up to you to determine how you use it"

Hirahito turned halfway from him. "Why do this? You do not know me yet you honour me with such a blade"

"Good question" Sayre mused. "In all honesty, it was a challenge." Hirahito turned to him a raised eyebrow and Sayre continued, looking into the distance, towards the peaks of the other mountain.

A moment of silence passed as a look of contemplation took hold on Sayre's face.

"Above all else, I value creation." Sayre raised his hand and a crystalline structure began to form. Hirahito hid his surprise carefully at this casual display of wandless magic.

"Magic allows for many impossible things to be possible, magic allows for wonders to be created" The crystalline form changed into a miniature city with tall spiral towers. Hirahito watched carefully and he noticed the slight change of expression in the young man's face as he looked at the city. It had meaning to Sayre…

How or why, he did not know.

"It is my passion to create things that will last until the ends of time, or at least as close to it." With a wave, Sayre vanished the crystalline city and turned to Hirahito, his eyes meeting Hirahito's.

"You caught my eye with the way you fought, the years of experience of wielding that katana was clear to see. It is an extension of you, it is a part of you." Sayre's eyes gleamed as he drew nearer.

"How could I not make a blade for you? A blade that would be worthy of one of your skill, a blade that would grow as you would grow, a blade that become one of legend in the right hands?" Sayre's eyes bored into Hirahito.

"Am I wrong?" Sayre tilted his head as he stood but a mere few metres away from him. "Am I wrong to think that?"

Hirahito broke the gaze and turned it to the blade, the katana he raised in the air and twisted slightly.

"No" Hirahito said after a moment. He understood what he meant. It seemed that perhaps he did not completely understand Sayre. He glanced at the man from the corner of his eyes.

What was his purpose? He fought like a demon, unrivalled and he could ensnare swathes of men to his cause and yet…

Yet his eyes never showed the genuine pleasure he'd shown when he presented the sword, pride and pleasure radiating from him as he reflected on creating the sword.

"What do you want in return?" Hirahito asked after several moments of silence, turning back to Sayre.

"Nothing" Sayre said simply, his hands folding behind his back, his gaze turning away from Hirahito, his eyes falling on the horizon.

"Nothing…?" He asked questioningly. "This katana would yield the greatest of commissions and you want nothing for it?"

Sayre smiled in a curious way, his eyes remaining fixed on the horizon.

"Sometimes…" Sayre began after a moment's pause.

"Sometimes, it is nice to remember why I'm doing what I'm doing" Sayre said more to himself, his eyes creasing as he stared at the horizon.

"…I see" Hirahito said slowly, not completely understanding.

Sayre turned to him, his purple eyes with green flecks looked at him with a strange glint in his eyes that gave him the expression that he did not believe him before he looked back at the horizon, saying nothing further.

Hirahito sheathed the katana and stood next to Sayre, looking at the same horizon.

Perhaps there was much more to the man than he knew. One thing was for sure, he would not cease to observe him for a long time.

-Break-

Credence POV

Credence walked at a quick pace through the street, the street where the streetlight dimly lit the surroundings, the streets abandoned despite it being merely early evening.

Not that he was surprised. As he walked passed the bend of the, he reminisced on when he'd first arrived here in Paris in the late 1920s.

A small smile crept on his face as he remembered the clueless boy that he was, the boy who'd been thrown into a world he had no idea of.

A world of magic, of wonder, of absurdity. It had destroyed the last remnants of his belief that magic was evil when he saw such…vitality, rich with such strangeness…

His smile dropped as he walked past a group of muggle German soldiers, his eyes casting downwards. He hadn't used magic to seem inconspicuous to the muggles.

He felt their eyes on him, likely judging him if he was a…undesirable. He was not afraid that they might decide that he was but he'd rather avoid using magic on them, especially given that there was a magical district not that far away from here, teeming with aurors.

Thankfully he'd been left alone as they laughed about something as they walked away.

Soon enough he arrived at his destination, the boarded up place not a dissimilar sight as he walked up to the door. He glanced around him for a moment, to ensure there were no sneaking eyes following him and when he was satisfied there were none, he palmed his wand and quickly cast a series of spells on the door, all diagnostic and once he was satisfied there were no traps or magic apparent in the place, he strode forward. His hand travelled to the doorknob and with a jerk, opened it.

The place was pristine, not a speckle of dust covered the café. The chairs were upside down on the tables, the rows behind the till, where there would have been alcohol, was empty though there was a single bottle of firewhiskey there, standing out so very clearly.

A glass settling on a table made him turn towards the sound, his wand crackling with magic as he got into a defensive stance.

"If you're wondering why this place is so damn clean, blame my mother" Ramirez said in his deep American accent before chuckled a little dryly "Damn woman always beat it in to us to that a 'clean home is a clean soul'" Ramirez picked up the drink and shook his head "What that meant, I still have no clue" and downed the glass before the glass rung in the almost cavernous sounding room as he stared at Credence whose wand was now no longer pointing at Ramirez but was still drawn.

"I never expected to take the option, not really" Ramirez said finally, after several moments of silence as they eyed each other up.

Ramirez gestured towards the free seat opposite him as he leaned back, his eyes intently focused on Credence.

Credence wordlessly took the seat and sat opposite Ramirez, his gaze fixed on Ramirez.

"Neither did I" Credence said quietly.

Silence filled the room as they both weighted the occasion.

He'd gotten Nagini out by the skin of his teeth and they'd been on the run for weeks. During one of the more…difficult times when they'd had to camp out in the wild as they moved silently through Germany, then the Netherlands – to avoid the patrols at the German French border – and Belgium by the coast before finally reaching France, he'd told Nagini of Ramirez's offer when they'd discussed their options.

It hadn't been something he truly considered…after all, he'd never really be free for a long time once he'd put himself in that position but Nagini had jumped on it, claiming that there was no life for them here in Europe and to get to Asia now would not be easy, especially once Grindelwald truly exerted his influence to find them.

They could hide but what life would that be? Nagini had told him.

They'd had many arguments about this until he'd caved in.

He could never truly deny her.

Ramirez eyed him curiously "That gal of yours must be somethin'" Ramirez grunted as he tapped the table.

It didn't surprise him at all that they knew of her.

"She is" he affirmed and fixed Ramirez with a deathly glare "I'd do anything for her." His voice had an undertone of violence.

Ramirez's eyes widened for a moment before he gave a small nod as understanding shone in his eyes. "Fair enough" He simply stated and his face grew serious.

"So you intend to join" Ramirez stated.

Credence looked away from those inspective calculating eyes.

Beyond the lack of…choices available to him, he felt…guilt towards those poor people who never deserved what they got.

He felt guilt towards his actions…his inactions towards their plight. There was no Nagini for them, there was no…Newt to champion the unchampionable.

All they had was him and he did nothing.

Nagini would always be his first thought – and his last – but those people…he could not get them out of his mind.

Perhaps there would be some kind of redemption in him if he helped those who would stop those monstrous acts.

"I do" Credence said finally, turning back towards Ramirez. "I will join against Grindelwald and his cause, as long as you keep to your bargain" his voice was hard.

Nagini's cure was something he would never yield on.

Ramirez narrowed his eyes for a moment before he nodded…slowly. "I have spoken to my superiors. They are willing to assist in finding a cure. As long as you keep your bargain once this war is over"

Credence clenched his jaw "I want it confirmed through a contract – a binding contract by the Supreme Mugwump that cannot be dismissed even if another is elected"

Ramirez eyes grew cold "Impossible"

Credence grew a sharp smile as he leaned forward "I'm no longer that naïve boy taken up with a cause that he did not understand. I might have to bind myself to the ICW for the foreseeable future but I will not bind myself without protection" or without a way out. But that would come later.

Ramirez scowled and he un-holstered his wand, causing Credence to follow the wand carefully, very carefully but Ramirez turned his wand to the side and summoned the firewhiskey from the row behind the till and with a quick flick, poured himself another glass of firewhiskey. He promptly necked it back.

He stared at Credence for a moment before scoffing "You're lucky we're desperate enough to effectively pardon you…" he glanced at Credence "No matter how…unfortunate your situation had been for a long stretch of your life, nevertheless you have caused substantial damage" he shook his head "Alright, I will pass on the message to the brass" he thinned his lips as he eyed Credence "They will likely accept it."

"That desperate?" Credence questioned. "Is your fellow countryman Charleston dead?"

Ramirez' eyes darkened "No he isn't" Ramirez stared at Credence for a moment before he continued "But he is injured enough that victory is…unlikely."

"I see." Credence said slowly, his stomach tightening. So they would ask him to kill Grindelwald.

He expected it. He knew it would happen.

But the weight was pressing on him.

Despite how much he hated the man, now, he hadn't always. He'd seen him, during the early stages, as a father figure.

It had been pathetic in truth. So desperate had he for a positive relationship with the man that he missed the abusive nature of their relationship.

Even so, there was a part of him that was wrenched at the prospect of…ending him.

"I'm not powerful enough to kill him" Credence spoke up after a moment, his hands underneath the table tightening.

Ramirez stared at him for a moment "You might well be. You are the first stable Obscurus. You should be in all rights be dead and yet you managed to tame the untameable. Your power is astounding Credence and I don't doubt that you're an Archmage"

Credence scowled "Even if I am…" Credence struggled for a moment "powerful…it doesn't mean anything when I cannot match his knowledge or his skill" He shook his head.

The ICW would be foolish to pin all of their hopes on him.

"We don't expect you to defeat him on your own" Ramirez interjected and Credence glanced at him in confusion before he understood.

"You want me to work with Charleston?" Credence asked surprised and Ramirez nodded.

"Charleston might be injured to a significant degree but he is still able to fight better than the elitist of fighters…he simply cannot bring to bear all of his power after the outcome of the last battle" Ramirez said reluctantly.

Credence narrowed his eyes. For that to happen, the trauma must have been severe to his magic.

He wanted to laugh. They wanted him to fight with a cripple against someone who was powerful enough to cripple another Archmage.

But…

This was the path he has taken.

Credence closed his eyes for a moment and envisioned his home by the beach in the Philippines, he watched a dark haired toddler waddling along on the sandy white beach, running from a beautiful dark haired woman whose hair flowed like silk.

His eyes reopened, his eyes as hard as diamond.

"Very well" Credence said, a tone of finality creeping in his voice.

"I accept"

Ramirez's eyes shone with triumph before it was replaced with a inspective glaze that was soon dismissed as Ramirez conjured another glass.

"Welcome to the team, Credence Dumbledore" Ramirez said with a certain tone to his voice.

For a long time he'd lived as Credence and then as Aurilius, both names having been chosen for him by none who had cared for him.

He'd been reborn as Aurilius from the ashes that was Credence.

Aurilius, the killer.

Aurilius, Grindelwald's pawn.

Credence picked up the glass of firewhiskey and saluted to Ramirez.

Perhaps it was time to simply be Credence.

Who that was…

He wasn't sure.